In our house, there lives a boy named Nick who wrote this poem just a few weeks ago. He's 11. His grandpa was an MP in WWII, surviving Normandy and Iwo Jima. It's wonderful things like you are about to read that make our house a home:
I am from
I am from fossils
From computers and Yugioh cards
From the fun house of my home
Drama and Laughs
I am from the rain clouds
And the rock at the bus stop.
The big oak over the garden
Whose long limbs I remember.
From Great Wolf summers and lots of humor
From cousins, aunts and uncles
I'm from parties and family movies
I am from old and young annoying siblings.
I'm from war doctor and Vikings
And you are my sunshine.
I'm from Thanksgiving at grandma's.
I'm from cities and fiords.
Rice pudding and coleslaw
From doctor at the warzone
Surgeon in battle.
In his office in grandma's basement.
Memories of hiding Easter eggs for him to find.
I had to buy stock in Kleenex after I read this.
I, his mother, was a weeping pile of goo - bursting with humility and pride.